In the Absence of a Mockingjay's Song
by LAVtoyou
Summary: We all know Katniss's story, but while she was battling her way through the Hunger Games, what took place in District 12? In the Absence of a Mockingjay's Song covers Madge's story, and how she got to know Gale Hawthorne during his darkest times.
1. Chapter 1

Please be aware of spoilers if you have not finished Catching Fire!

Prologue (At the bombing of District 12)

A blood-curdling screech pierced the smoky haze, bounding off the flame-ridden walls. I could feel the rage pounding at my fingertips, waiting impatiently to burst out, and I clenched my teeth together in an effort to restrain it. The pulse ticked in my eardrums, beating as the clock, sending fire searing through my veins. I watched with scorching eyes as the red engulfed the land below me, sending churning clouds to twist through the air like coiling snakes. Yet I remained cold and still, despite the heat and the panicked cries of the few remaining survivors, and it was as if an icy hand had grasped my heart and slowly squeezed the life out of it. The forest around me began to swirl, mix into a slur of chaos and fire: the unbearable fire that licked ever-so-hungrily at the place I used to call my home.

Posy had wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, but I had barely noticed. Only a distant sense of fear was reflected in her gray-seam eyes, but nothing more. She was too little to understand, something that I was grateful for. Looking at her bruised skin and battered knees reminded me that I have to stay strong. For her. For them- the entirety of District 12. Here, Katniss wouldn't be able to protect them. I was the Mocking jay. And it's my turn to take flight.

I clenched my fists, digging my nails into the blistered palms, and with strength renewed, I plummeted ahead. For the better or the worse of it.

And that's when I remembered Madge.

_What?_

I look around my room, taking comfort in its simple contents, and then rested my face in my hands, grateful that I could enjoy the cool darkness without having to close my eyes.

_I'm back._

Could I even call these nightmares anymore? Sometimes I felt like they're the reality, and this is world of dreams. I felt like I spent more time dwelling in that same moment than I was aware of the present world around me. So I tried to shut everything away entirely. The numbness only worked for so long.

I stand up from my bed and cross over to the window, feeling comforted pressed against the cold glass pane, iced with morning dew. Being cold took my mind off of Madge, so I liked it.

Because she was always the warmth, and I was always the ice.

If I listened hard enough, I could hear Posy's breath on the other side of the wall. Maybe I would call it snoring. I'm sure it would bother someone like Johanna, but I took comfort in it at night. She proved to me that I wasn't alone.

And of course, Katniss too. But Katniss is still in that numb state I was in a few weeks ago.

I sigh, and prepare myself for the oncoming day. Mornings are nice, and simple, but the quiet brings on thoughts that I can't ignore. Where was she right now? Madge? Some place nice, I hope. I've spent countless nights searching for her, some flicker of her presence, but it was all in vain. Maybe she was in a meadow like in the song Katniss sung for Rue. I hoped that was true. Yet, even so, if I were to find that she was in a bad place- a place like the Hunger Games- I'd still be relieved. At least then I'd have some sense of closure.

Isn't that a sickening thought?

Almost as sickening as the fact she's gone now because of me.

When did this start in the first place? When did Madge and I become so close? And the memory hits me like a pleasant dream- of course, how could I have forgotten? It all started there…

Madge (At District 12's square, watching Katniss's first Hunger Games)

It's hard to hide my embarrassment as I enter the crowd, so I press myself firmly against my father's side in hopes that no one will notice me. The majority of the crowd is dressed in plain, Seam clothing, their hair messy and unkempt, their fingernails caked with coal dust and dirt. My salmon pink dress and silky blonde hair seemed out of place, and it was more than once I tripped on my pointy heels. But, as my father had stated, we were representing the entirety of District 12, so we had to look our best.

Above us was a huge screen that showed what was currently taking place in the Hunger Games- some quarrel between members of the Career pack. We had a decent-sized television at home very capable of playing the events, but my father requested we visit the square today. Besides, things were never as tragic when you had your friends surrounding you. Sometimes you could pretend that it really was merely a television show- and nothing more- playing on the screen. Sometimes.

But today my attention wasn't turned towards the screen- but to Gale. He was immersed in the center of the group, with words of familiarity and encouragement directed towards him. Neither the Hawthornes nor the Everdeens ever showed up in the square, preferring the isolation of their own homes. In fact, both households rarely even showed their faces in public. But today Gale was present.

And suddenly Katniss was on screen. Fire was enclosing her on all sides, and you could almost sense the panic and smell smoky licks of flame from behind the fuzzy television. Something off screen hurls a blazing object at her, but it misses by an inch. And suddenly fireballs are flying everywhere, and Katniss is running desperately to get away from them, get to safety.

I tear my eyes away from the scene and force them onto Gale- to see his face, his reaction. What I see shocks me. His lips are pressed together in a firm line, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. He gazes at the screen with hard eyes- stern, but they somehow gave me hope. There was no fear reflected in his deep gray eyes.

Did that mean there was nothing to be afraid of?

A fireball strikes Katniss in the calf, and she shrieks in pain. She presses her leg against the ground in an effort to extinguish the flame, and rips away the scorched fabric of her pants. She then sits there, panting, not bothering to move anymore. Maybe she can't. But it doesn't matter, because the attack has ended anyways.

Relief sweeps through the crowd. A few people clap and share proud comments. Greasy Sae slaps Gale on the back and says with a loud laugh, "See? I told you that she'd make it!"

In the fading embers, Katniss's mockingjay pin shines with a red light, almost blinding in comparison to the dull smoke settling in the background. Seeing this, I can't help but say, "That mockingjay can survive anything." It'll keep her safe- because I remember how many times it saved me.

The scene fades, switching to a boy from District Eleven. At this the crowd loses interest, and drifts apart to discuss what they thought of Katniss's latest performance. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Gale pushes through the square and heads towards the forests. Of course I don't want to follow him- he's made countless remarks against me, and sends glares my way every time I pass him, but there's a sense of distress in his eyes that I can't ignore. I part from my father's side and slip through the crowd, my eyes searching desperately for his dark skin, trying not to lose sight of him. I catch up to him just as he's about to slip under the chain-linked fence that borders the woods.

"W-wait!" I call, my voice sounding soft and incredibly meek. Nothing like Katniss.

He turns around and annoyance bites his eyes- like liquid fire. All he must've wanted was to be alone, and if he had to be intercepted by a person, I would not be his first choice. "What do you want?" he grumbles with an exasperated sigh.

I bite my lip and my face flushes cherry. Now that I'm here, what am I going to say to him?

"Well, if you have nothing to say…"

"N-no! Wait! I do, it's just," The words cling to my throat, feeling like a heavy knot was stuffed into my mouth. But I force them out. "It's just, I know that you feel like no one understands what you're going through. But that's not true! We've all lost someone to the capital's vanity. I mean, my own aunt was drafted to the Hunger Games. I never knew her, but I read her diary every night. She was really a wonderful person. I guess what I'm trying to say is… is…"

But he smiles, and I know that he understands. "Okay." He says. "I get it."

"Yeah! You just have to remain strong. Besides, I gave Katniss my Mockingjay pin, so I know that it'll protect her."

He blinked, and sudden realization hit his face. "Oh… that was you."

_Of course- didn't you make a comment on my pin last week?_ I thought bitterly to myself, but didn't say it out loud.

He turns and hunches over to squeeze himself under the fence, but I stop him. "Wait a minute! Let me come with you."

He gives me a doubting look as he takes in my silky dress and strapped heels.

"Look, I don't care if my dress tears or anything. It's okay, honestly."

"Don't say that. Many people would take tessera to get their hands on a dress light that."

"Then let me go back and change!" When he doesn't reply, I continue "I've always wanted to go into there- into the forest. Maybe you might find this a bit, well, pathetic, but it's a way of rebelling for me. For taking a more… dangerous route. Besides, my aunt used to go in there a lot too." The minute it was out of my mouth I regretted it- why was I revealing so much to him?

But his voice was gentle as he spoke, a certain understanding to it that was unfamiliar to me. "Yeah, I see - but I can' take you today. I need to be alone right now. But I promise that I will some other time, alright?"

I nod, and somehow I know that I can trust him to keep his promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

I never knew my Aunt. And even now, after living her tragedy through her words, watching and re-watching her performance in the 50th Hunger Games, she still manages to evade me.

Yet ever since that day I discovered her journal, nooked into the far corner of the bedroom wardrobe, I have remained curious about the woman behind those sad eyes. My mother, when released from her spell of migraines, and I used to curl up on our porch (the only one in District 12) in the chill of the winter, just as the purple haze of dusk settled over the city, and she'd tell me stories about my aunt, her twin sister, and I held them close. They were plain, simple stories that truly didn't need to be told, but through every word I unlocked another piece of her, so treasured them.

I devoted many nights to reading, to worshipping, that abandoned diary. I usually let my mother keep her privacy. I used to pry, but when I turned old enough to, vaguely, be able to understand, I released her to her world of mild dreams. She had accepted her sadness, and was far past it, but seemed to live in a world of indifference. She lives in the past, her mood often changing as a certain memory overtook her, yet she was of the future as well. A future she would never have. The present was only a dream, a flicker of reality that was so foreign she could not accept it.

So I didn't pry. When I found something she had hidden, I let it be. That was… until I came across her sister's journal.

There was something to it. The yellowing pages were soft, and limp in my hands, its corners jagged with countless dog ears and its cover smudged with fingerprints. Capital books, with their stiff backs and bleached pages, were intimidating, but this one seemed to smile at me. Besides, the books my father got for me from his rare trips to the Capital were never worth reading anyways. They were all about celebrities unknown to me and 'safe' ways to pierce your eyelids.

And… _she _was there. Her strength oozed from the pages, the book's presence so similar to that of my Mockingjay pin I couldn't resist but taking it for myself. And yet, even now, my mother is unaware that I have kept the book.

So, with the diary nooked into the back pocket of my worn, muslin cloth trousers, I made my way to the towering gate of the District. In the early hours, when the majority was asleep, the Hunger Games are not aired. I knew that Gale would have to hunt at some point, and he wouldn't want to risk missing Katniss. If I ever was to get a chance and seeing the forest for myself, it would be now.

The air is crisp, and a blue, dawning breath clouds at my lips. I know that the wires are dead, but I do not dare lean against them as I wait. Time passes, and I'm beginning to doubt his arrival, and wondering if I should turn around and go home. But then I hear a voice.

"You're a lot more persistent than I thought you were."

I turn to see him. His side-swept hair traces the edges of his eyes, and his lips are pursed into an amused smile. Looking from his sturdy, ashen boots and array of blades and rope that I know is for trapping, I suddenly feel very unprepared. My outfit feels flimsy.

Indicating to his hands, I say, "Those are snares, right? What types of animals will those catch?"

"If we're lucky, bears."

A shock runs through my body. "But aren't those a little small?"

He shrugs. "It's only enough to anger them. When we've got one, we'll come up from behind and stab them in the back. It may be a bit of trouble, but the pay makes it worth it." It's not until he's well under the fence and slinking off into the woods with laughter that I realized I've been fooled.

Frustrated that I could fall for something so _stupid_, I jam myself through the barbed wire, temporarily forgetting my prior fear of being electrocuted.

I follow him in silence. Well, at least my mouth is silent. The sound of my feet are the shattering of glass compared to his nimble steps- sometimes he's so quiet I forget his presence. Still, there's a certain thrill crawling throughout my skin, fleeing down my spine- I'm actually _here_, in the elusive forest that had always remained a distant, impenetrable realm that was so unlike my own it was startling. Suddenly, in the midst of my own self-pride and fear, I'm desperate to hear words- something solid, something to hold on to. I'm grateful when he speaks.

"How are you holding up?"

"Good." I nod. "How much farther will we go?"

"Not much longer now." He pauses. "It's nice out here, isn't it? Sort of… safe."

"Safe?" I echo, doubtfully. I don't feel safe at all. I feel open and exposed, like there is nowhere to hide in this empty place.

"Safe." He repeats. "No one is watching you, no threatening glares pressed against you. We're safe out here. We're free." He shakes his unruly hair. "I guess you don't hear it, do you?"

I knit my eyebrows together.

"Listen." He instructs. "Everybody's waking up."

And, marvelously, I did. Standing there, I could feel the energy ebb from my fingertips, and therefore into the trees around me. The chatter of birds in the lace of leaves, the musky breath and pulse of fur and bone. I begin to open my mouth to speak, but he stops me by holding out a hand. Kneeling under the undergrowth, he removes a braided string from the jagged patterns of discarded leaves and motions me over. There, only a few yards away, a hare is nestled within the steely jaws of a snare, nibbling at the ground.

He hands me the rope.

"No." He whispers. "You're holding it wrong." Taking my hands, he rearranges my fingers so they are interlaced around the rope, and squeezes them to tell me that I must grip it harder. Despite his years of coal and winter, his skin is surprising smooth- like the sleek glaze of a spring-kissed leaf. Through the thread of rope, I feel as if I can feel the rabbit's nose quiver.

He nods. White voltage runs through my body as I pull the string, the cruel snap of the steely jaws echoing in the glowing dawn. With a sigh, the animal dies, and Gale stands to retrieve it.

He shrugs. "Not bad. You were almost too slow, but luck was on our side." Standing he says, "Let's continue."

I'm almost disappointed by his lack of praise, but I keep it to myself. The pride I feel is enough to count for the both of us. I trot to catch up with him, and when I do, I ask. "We can't kill any Mockingjays, okay?" He should be able to tell by my voice that I mean it.

He smiles sadly. "I know. And especially not now."


End file.
